Good Intentions: Part Two
by abrynne
Summary: Sam's story continues. There are very few men like John Reese, as Sam begins to understand, when Finch asks for her help with the next number on the list: John's number. Sam learns more about John's past as she works to prevent the next predicted murder.
1. Interest

This is the third installment in Sam's story as she becomes more and more involved with John Reese and Harold Finch, and what they do.

I recommend reading "Dark Horse" and "Good Intentions: Part One" first before continuing in order to get the full gist of the story.

Thanks, and enjoy!

* * *

Part Two

"Hi, I'm Kevin. It's nice to meet you. This whole time limit thing is kind of stressful, but here we go. I like rock climbing, football, and movies. I'm looking for something serious. I like to say that up front, because I've had some girls get scared away in the past after we've been dating for a while. Then it's the whole 'just friends' thing, which we all know is code for 'I don't want to date you anymore'.

"Why can't they just say that, you know? Has that ever happened to you?"

She set her phone down and looked up when the guy paused for breath. "I usually try to get out of situations like that early on. It's not fair to either party, letting it drag."

"I totally agree." Kevin stooped a little in his seat to get a look at the name tag on her blouse. "Samantha. That's pretty."

"Thank you," Sam said.

A bell rang outside their little cubicle and Sam picked up her phone and walked through the curtain. She stepped out into a temporary corridor of curtains. Girls were exiting from each one, Eva from the one next to her.

"This is ridiculous," Sam said as they moved to the next curtained hole. "It's like a brothel in here with the drapes everywhere and everything. I can't believe I let you drag me here on a _Saturday_ of all days! It's nice outside. We should have taken Ben for a walk instead of going to this stupid thing."

Eva rolled her eyes and pointed accusingly at Sam. "That's it, right there. Do you see what you just did? You would rather spend your single woman time with me and my child than with a full grown and interesting man."

"Oh, now they have to be interesting? That narrows the field a bit," Sam muttered.

Eva pushed Sam into the next curtained cubicle. Sam sighed and sat down. She propped her chin up on her hand when she sat at the table, and stared at the man – she used the term loosely – seated across from her.

He smiled at her, making his chin a little more prominent in the overall shape of his face. "I'm Brent," he said in a low voice.

"Sam," she replied.

"You have pretty hair, Sam."

"Thank you, Brent."

"Do you have any hobbies?"

Sam thought for a moment. "I like to read, and I write for a living, so…"

"Novels?"

"Eventually, yes."

"I like to read too," Brent cleared his throat and pulled on the collar of his shirt.

"And what do you read, Brent?"

"I like historical fiction and some sci-fi."

Sam nodded in approval. At least he had a brain. That was something, right? "What do you do for a living, Brent?"

"I'm kind of in between jobs right now. But I'm trying to get into video game design."

Sam raised her eyebrows. "So you have a degree in graphic design or something?"

"Oh no, I'm more of a freelance, go where the wind takes me kind of guy."

"So you're hoping to get into designing video games without any degree and by sheer luck?"

Brent blinked at her as though he didn't understand her point. The times up bell could not have been slower to ring.

Sam practically ran out of Brent's booth and shot Eva the worst look she could possibly muster before going through the next curtain.

She plopped down in the chair and stared at the guy sitting across from her. This one wasn't bad looking, but that didn't mean a damn thing.

"Hi," he stood and offered her his hand, which she took in a handshake. "Pleasure to meet you… Samantha. I'm Tony."

Sam smiled genuinely. "Hi Tony."

He sat down on his side of the table. "It's kind of comforting, knowing that there are other people desperate enough to come to one of these things, if you'll forgive the word."

"I guess it is," Sam said, waiting to find a flaw somewhere.

"So, okay, I'll start," Tony said, placing his hands flat on the table. "I take apart and rebuild engines for a living, so I'm really into cars, anything that uses gasoline to run. I am ashamed to say it, but I watch Wheel of Fortune every night without fail, and I _suck_ at it."

Sam chuckled.

"I should to warn you that I'm way into brunettes, because they're honest."

"How do you know that?" Sam asked.

"What?"

"How do you know brunettes are honest? That's kind of a general statement to make. I could print my own money at home, and you would have no idea."

"Do you print your own –"

Sam sighed. "Okay, Tony. How much of that crap was the truth?"

Tony's voice cracked as he tried to come up with an answer.

"You've been practicing that whole spiel, haven't you? And you change it to fit the next girl who opens that curtain. What do you say to blondes, I wonder? Or redheads?"

"You have no idea what you're talking about. I was being honest."

Sam leaned forward on the table, her eyes flashing at poor Tony. "Really? You're sticking with that? You hardly looked at me while you were talking, and your hands were pressed onto the table to keep from wiping your palms on your pants like an eight-year-old."

Sam eyed him for a moment, a rat caught in her trap. "Do you like guns, Tony?"

"What?"

"Guns. Do you know how to use a gun? I do."

"Actually, I'm kind of against – "

"Have you ever been shot at? I _have_! Trust me, you'll change your opinion about learning to use a gun if someone shoots one at you."

Sam stood just as the bell rang. She glared at Tony once more and shoved the curtain aside on her way out.

Eva grabbed her arm before she went into the next booth like a bull out of a shoot. "Sam, I think everyone just heard that tirade," she said calmly.

"So?" Sam shrugged. "I just saved about a dozen girls from trying to date that moron."

"They're not all morons, Sam."

Sam's shoulders slumped as she looked pathetically at her friend. "No, they're not."

"I'm sorry I brought you here. I should have figured you weren't over – "

"There's nothing to get over. Don't worry about it." Sam said and went through the next curtain.

She glanced up and relaxed at the sight of the man who stood to greet her like a gentleman. Sam sat down at the table. She folded her arms upon the table top and rested her forehead on them.

"Do you find that this strange process of elimination works for some people?" Finch spoke to the top of her head as she sat down.

"I have no idea." Sam's voice was muffled.

"It seems almost like a graduate student's psych project."

Sam laughed and lifted her head. "How are you, Harold?"

"Well as always. I've had an interesting time in this booth."

"Have you found your soul mate?"

"Whatever that may mean, I don't believe so."

Sam sat up and brushed her hair away from her face. "I didn't think you were in for this sort of thing."

"I could say the same for you."

"Eva dragged me here."

Finch folded his hands upon the table top. "Oh. Is she… back on the market, as it were?"

"No. She just wants me to be more active in it, I guess."

Finch looked around the small space and sniffed. "This is hardly the way to go about it."

Sam nodded. "I completely agree."

"Will you take a walk with me, Miss Tudin? There is something we need to discuss." Finch stood as if she already answered.

"Yes, and I keep telling you, call me Sam."

Sam stood with him and they walked out of the cubicle. Sam peeked into the cubicle next door, and hissed to gain Eva's attention. "Hey! I found my soul mate. I'll see you later."

"What?"

Sam grinned as she let the curtain fall, and left the building with Finch.

* * *

Finch offered his arm to Sam. She took it and they walked at Finch's stiff, but steady pace in the late winter afternoon.

The air was still chilly, but the sun had more warmth to it. Sam pulled the collar of her coat closer around her neck as they walked across the street to the park.

"What did you want to discuss?" Sam asked, relieved that she was freed from the prison of speed dating.

"Did Mr. Reese ever explain to you how we know about the crimes that are going to take place?"

Sam shook her head. "No. He just said he had a source."

"That source is always pulling up new names for us to investigate. The scenarios, you see, we have to figure out for ourselves." Finch glanced sidelong at her.

"You get a name and you don't know why?"

"We know that they will be involved in a premeditated murder in one way or another. But that is all we know at first."

"That's why John does surveillance first," Sam said, mostly to herself, fitting one of the pieces into the jigsaw puzzle.

"Precisely."

"How is John?"

"He is doing as well as can be expected after an encounter with an abusive husband who owned a collection of baseball bats."

Sam winced sympathetically. "Is he all right?"

"He's better off than the husband."

Finch stopped them when they reached a bench, and sat down. Sam sat next to him, folding her hands in her lap, the wind lifting her hair as she moved her head.

"He is what we need to discuss, Miss Tudin."

Sam clenched her fists nervously. She bit her lip, looking warily at Finch.

He seemed to understand. "You should know that when you were being held captive some weeks ago I heard your conversation with Elias… in its entirety. I won't drudge up any specifics of that conversation as they are none of my business."

"Thank you," Sam said quietly.

Finch pulled a piece of paper from his jacket pocket and handed it to Sam. It was a photograph. Sam held it in her fingers and looked up at him.

"But… this is John," she said. It was an older photograph, he was younger, in military uniform, and had a different look about him that she couldn't quite decipher. Sam smiled.

"Technically, and legally, this man is dead. He went missing two years ago and was declared dead. However, our source brought him up as the next name, his original name, of course, but still the same man."

Sam looked at him expectantly, but Finch shook his head. "It is not my place to give that away."

Sam continued studying the photo. "So, if your source is right – "

"It's always right."

"Then John is going to be involved in a murder."

"The killer, perhaps the victim," Finch confirmed.

"Wait, wait. You said premeditated. John would have to make a plan to kill someone and carry it out."

"Which do you think is more likely, Miss Tudin? I'd be grateful for your opinion."

"Does he know about this?"

"Absolutely not. I plan on sending him on a wild goose chase in the meantime while we figure this out."

Sam stood and began pacing in front of the park bench as she thought out loud, waving the photograph in front of her. "So, he's dead. Who knows he's alive now?"

Finch tilted his head and thought. "H.R., Elias, a section of the CIA and the FBI – "

"The _CIA_?" Sam shouted.

"Mr. Reese's past is a complicated one," Finch said coolly, his eyes flicking about suspiciously. "He is an ex agent."

Sam took a moment to absorb the information. She thought that he had military training, sure, but a CIA agent? A spy? Actually, that sort of fit. "What's H.R.?"

"It is a euphemism for an organization of backwards city police officers. They have been poking around about Mr. Reese lately."

Sam stared at Finch as though he'd gone mad. "Well, I think we've figured out which is more likely, murderer or victim. Harold, we have to tell him. _You_ have to tell him."

"He will only continue on as he always does."

"And what do you expect me to do? Kidnap him and lock him in a closet for the next two weeks?"

"I am asking you, Sam, to help me keep an eye on him. I already have our contacts in the police force working on finding the perpetrators. But, until then…"

"Spy on the spy." Sam flapped her arms in the air helplessly. "Great."


	2. Spying

A CIA agent. Sam's brain couldn't stop bringing that up in her thoughts. She had a strange picture of John, dressed all in black, climbing over rooftops in some Middle Eastern country running through her head. No wonder he was so guarded. He's probably faced so many horrible things.

She sat back in the backseat of the taxi after leaving HQ. Finch had to give her what few details and information he had. They both agreed that John was the one who was being targeted, which wasn't a surprise. In less time than a year, he'd managed to piss off all of the underground, organized crime groups in New York.

Finch had given her John's current location, and told her simply to watch. Keep an eye out for anyone else who might be watching him, and report back.

Sam's hand continued to move to the prominent lump in her coat pocket. Her gun was there only as a precaution, a last resort. But, somehow, she had the feeling that Finch wasn't giving her the entire story. Perhaps he already knew part of what was going to happen and needed Sam to interfere. But, if that were the case, wouldn't Detective Carter be a better choice for that?

The taxi dropped her off at a café downtown.

The day was moving towards evening, and the café was pretty crowded. Sam stood next to the window, trying to locate her target amongst the groups of people in the café.

"What do you see, Miss Tudin?" Finch's voice came through her earpiece.

"The place is pretty crowded. He's probably already seen me, and I can't even find him."

"That doesn't matter," Finch replied. "You don't have to be – "

"Wait," Sam said, peering into the window. "I see him, Finch."

John sat alone at a table meant for two, sipping a cup of coffee, and pretending to read an evening newspaper. He appeared not to have seen her. Sam celebrated this little triumph in the privacy of her own head.

"Good. He's supposed to be there, watching a waitress who works in the café."

"You sent him after an innocent waitress?"

"Hardly anyone is innocent, Miss Tudin," Finch said wisely. "Don't worry, I won't let him get too far."

"He's going to throw you off of a bridge when he finds out what's really happening."

"That's also why I've asked for your help. He wouldn't hurt me in front of you."

Sam snorted and took a seat on a sidewalk bench outside the café. "No Harold, he'll just toss us both off."

Sam's hair was pulled back in a pony tail that was being tossed about by the cold wind along the sidewalk. She waited, gaining some understanding of how bored John must get sometimes, watching people, waiting for things to happen.

After about twenty minutes, John stood, leaving cash on the table for his coffee. Sam saw the waitress leave the café, wearing a coat and hat, and carrying her purse. She couldn't have been older than eighteen. Sam leaped up and bolted into the alley next to the café as John exited.

She watched him walk past, limping just slightly, in pursuit of the waitress, and followed.

"When do you plan on stopping him, Finch? He's following her now. I think she's on her way home."

"I've already told you not to worry, Miss Tudin. I'm in contact with him as we speak. He won't approach her until he has a reason. And he won't have a reason, because there is no threat to her."

John's long strides through the crowds of people caused Sam to come close to a jog in order to keep up with him. She remained a few meters behind him.

"Miss Tudin," Finch said, forcing calmness in his voice. "Mr. Reese just reported someone else following our waitress."

"Oh come on!" Sam hissed as she jogged to catch up to John again.

"He is rarely wrong about these things, unfortunately. He knows what to look for."

"That makes one of us."

Sam caught a glimpse of the waitress a block ahead of her. She turned into an alley, cutting in between the blocks to save time in getting home. John paused at the entrance to the alley, his finger to his ear as he spoke to Finch.

He didn't follow her in. Instead, he walked down the rest of the block and turned a corner. Sam continued in pursuit as a man she would have sworn hadn't been there before slipped into the alley after the waitress.

"He's right, Finch," Sam said, speed walking to catch up to John. "She's being followed."

Finch sighed. "There's too much of that going on at the moment. Just keep after him, Miss Tudin. Don't do anything else."

"Got it." Sam turned the corner and had to break into a run.

John was walking faster, and just started up the block again when they heard a scream.

Sam kept her distance as John ran to the opposite end of the alley. She watched him enter it. The next thing that came out was the flying body of the man who was following the waitress. He landed hard upon the sidewalk, but got up and scampered away like a wounded animal.

"Well, that was easy," Sam muttered to herself.

"He just proposed his theory that this attack is not related to what is going to happen to her. That it was just a coincidence."

"I've always loved the fact that he's so smart," Sam said sarcastically.

John stepped out of the alley with the waitress. She was trembling and looked terrified.

"There goes the plan for him _not_ to make contact with her."

"He's going to escort her to her apartment at her request."

Sam mumbled something under her breath and stayed at the corner as John started across the street with the waitress.

"That's not a very healthy assumption to make, Miss Tudin," Finch scolded.

A few minutes passed, and John stepped out of the apartment building, waitressless. Sam moved farther back around the corner as John looked around the area, and walked across the street. He went into the alley and Sam ran to catch up.

She grabbed at a cramp in her side as she reached the alley entrance just in time to see him walk around the corner on the opposite side. Sam growled and ran through the alley and out the other side.

She stopped on the sidewalk and looked around. He was gone. She started down the direction she thought he went and still didn't see him.

"Damn it. I lost him, Finch," she said, turning around, and going back into the alley for some privacy.

Sam then slammed into something. It felt like a wall, but she looked up and saw John looking down at her, an unreadable expression on his face. "What are you doing?"

"_Augh!_" Sam jumped, screamed and swatted him on the arm a couple of times as a reflex. "Yooooou… _suck!"_ she said to him, jabbing her finger at his chest.

"What happened?" Finch said in her ear.

"John just scared the crap out of me. Literally! I need to go home and change my pants!" Sam yelled as her heart rate slowly went back to normal.

John leaned down so he was level with Sam. He held onto her shoulder, his face next to hers. "What's going on, Finch?" he said into her earpiece.

"It looks like we'll need to invest in some life jackets, Miss Tudin." Finch said.

* * *

John kept eerily silent as they walked to his car and started back toward HQ. Sam fiddled with her scarf, constantly glancing sidelong at John. He never once looked at her, keeping his eyes and face forward as he drove.

When they stopped at a light, John reached into his pocket and pulled out his phone. Sam watched him end the call with Finch and take out his earpiece. He finally looked at her, and she did the same. They were alone.

"Are you angry?" Sam asked timidly.

"I'm holding off on that until I know what the hell is going on." John said through his teeth.

He was angry. Sam could feel it. So, she decided to act on the first course of action that entered her head: deny everything.

"Just so you know this was Finch's idea. I told him that we should tell you, but – "

"Tell me what, Sam?"

"I think we should wait. Finch can explain it better."

"Finch will also give me every excuse to justify involving you in whatever this is. I'd like to hear it from you first."

Sam sighed, propping her elbow on the door frame, cupping her forehead in her hand. "Your source pulled up your name today. Your real name, whatever that is. The waitress from the café wasn't a real target at all. But, I noticed that you helped her out anyway."

John's phone rang. He ignored the call.

"Finch told me about some of the enemies you have here besides Elias. It's a pretty extensive list for a dead man."

John gripped onto the steering wheel until his knuckles turned white.

"Okay, what is it?"

"What?"

Sam scowled at him. "I can feel the waves of irritation coming off of you, John. Why is it so bad that I know a little bit about you? Do you think I won't trust you anymore?"

"The less you know, the safer you'll be," he replied.

Sam bristled at his words as though he was purposefully being condescending. "So knowing stuff about you is like knowing a state secret?" she snapped. "You may not realize this, but being safe hasn't really gotten me anywhere. And guess what! I've been shot at, kidnapped, and blown up _without_ knowing very much about you at all, except for what I've observed, which hasn't been a lot. I've already made my own enemies, John.

"All I wanted to do was watch your back just like you've watched mine. This time there is someone planning to get to you, and that bothered me, okay? We were only trying to help, you big, stubborn jerk!" She punched him in the shoulder like a teenager and glared at the windshield.

John exhaled slowly. "It's good to see you, Sam."

"You too," she said reluctantly.

"What do you mean, you've made your own enemies?" John asked.

Sam sunk a little in her seat as she thought about the last words Elias said to her. He had let her and John go because, somehow, she had swayed him not to hurt John. But now, she owed him debt that he had yet to call in.

"Elias used me to get to you last time. He may be the one planning your demise as we speak. But John, I don't know what you think of me, but I think of you as my friend, and I don't have many of those. After today, Eva might have even turned on me.

"Finch asked me to help because he knew I would want to… and there wasn't really anyone else available."

Sam relaxed a little at the flash of a smile that went across John's face.

"When did you know I was following you?"

"When I walked out of the café. You need to work on breathing quieter."

Sam rolled her eyes.

"It was that, and I saw you ditch into the alley."

Sam jabbed at his arm again.


	3. Truth

Finch's request for John to lay low for the next few days landed upon deaf ears, as everyone knew it would.

The following evening, Sam's phone rang and she answered.

"Checking in, as promised," John sounded bored.

"Good. And you know I can still follow you around if you'd prefer that to calling us every four hours." Sam joked. "Have you found out anything?"

"Lionel called Finch this morning. There is something going on at HR. Since Lynch was killed, things have been shaky for him. He has to work a little harder to find things out. But there is definitely something happening with the higher ups. Elias has been quiet. Carter hasn't had contact with any other agents for the past month."

"So it's HR."

"One would assume so."

"They'll figure it out, John," Sam tried to sound reassuring.

"Yeah."

"John?"

"Hm?"

"Why are those agents after you?"

"I'll see you later, Sam."

The line went dead. Sam sighed and picked up the book she'd been reading before the interruption.

* * *

Things remained quiet for the next several hours. Late that night, however, Sam grabbed onto her phone as it blared at her.

"Miss Tudin," Finch sounded wide awake. "Mr. Reese has not checked in and he is not answering his phone."

"Where?" Sam said, grabbing a pair of jeans.

Finch gave her the address. "Detective Carter is at a crime scene and can't get away. I haven't been able to contact Detective Fusco."

"I'll try and find him." Sam hung up and finished getting dressed.

The address Finch gave her was downtown, an old construction site that had lost funding, and remained only a skeleton of a building.

Finch called again.

"Detective Fusco just contacted me. They are holding Mr. Reese for questioning."

"They're torturing him?" Sam asked, horrified.

"He didn't go into detail, Miss Tudin. But he is alive."

"I'm here. It looks like just an abandoned construction project." Sam approached the fence around the building and walked along it, trying to find a way in.

"According to Detective Fusco, they are holding Mr. Reese, waiting for their bosses to arrive. That is your window."

"Wonderful." Sam felt a thrill of panic and excitement at the danger that awaited her. However, there would be no danger if she couldn't find a way through the blasted fence!

She moved around to the back of the unfinished building and found a section where the mesh had been cut. She pried it open and squeezed through. Sam took a breath and pulled out her gun. This is what she wanted. This is what she silently agreed to when she first asked Finch if he'd let her help them. That conversation seemed like decades ago.

Sam picked her way over the uneven ground and entered the building.

Only the first few floors were finished. Sam swallowed back a sudden fear of heights, as she walked up the stairs and felt cold air on her face. The first two floors were empty. She moved up to the third. There were no windows or doors on this floor. Plastic barriers flapped in the breeze as it came through.

Sam's heart pounded, thudding in her head, but her hands remained steady on her weapon as she searched. The third floor was also empty.

She reached the fourth floor landing and paused to catch her breath and clear her head. The floor wasn't fully complete on this level. There were gaps where only beams were available to walk on. If you missed a step, it would be a hard landing.

Men's voices reached her and she straightened up against a beam coming through the floor, gripping the gun like it was a life preserver.

Taking a breath, she moved around the corner of what looked like a future elevator shaft. She peered around it and saw the light coming from a cell phone of one of the captors.

He muttered something into it and hung up. The light went out, and the only remaining illumination was the surrounding lights of the city. There were three men – three cops, Sam corrected herself. They stood around another man who was tied to a folding chair. His head was slumped forward as if he'd been broken, or was simply asleep.

Their coats blew in the wind as they paced around their captive, and exchanged clipped one or two syllable words as conversation. Fusco had to be there. But which one was he?

Sam waited as the men appeared to agree on something. She squinted through the semi-darkness as one of them pulled an object from his pocket. A syringe. He removed the cap and stuck it unceremoniously into the arm of the man in the chair. He pushed the plunger all the way down and Sam fired.

The one with the syringe went down with a yell, shot in the hip. The other two drew their weapons, one stood in front of John, the other moved to where he believed the shooter was. Sam waited ten seconds and fired again. The one closest to her went down with a groan, hit in the thigh.

Sam scurried forward, kicking his weapon out of reach. He tried to grab at her instead, but she retaliated by kicking him swiftly in the face. Her hands and neck were drenched in sweat, but she moved forward. The third cop backed away from her as she approached, pointing her weapon at him.

"Whoa, whoa!" he said, holding his hands up. "Who are you?"

"My name is Sam. I came for John."

"Good thing you didn't shoot Lionel," John said.

Sam turned and looked at him. John's shoulders were hunched and he looked back at her with glazed eyes. There was a cut along his temple, and bruises on his jaw. "Hey, Sam. You look tired. I didn't wake you, did I?" he said. He blinked slowly and his speech was a little drawn out.

"Detective Fusco," she said, addressing the officer still standing.

"That's me."

"What did they give him?"

"Sodium pentothal."

Sam moved closer to John, who blinked smiled weakly at her. "What?"

"Truth serum," John said helpfully.

"So he would tell the truth?"

"Basically," Fusco confirmed.

"Oh my holy hell," Sam said quietly, staring at John.

"Look, you came to get him, so get him," Fusco said. "They gave him more than the normal dose, so you should keep an eye on him until it wears off."

Sam nodded. "Okay, John, I'm going to get you out of here." She started on the ropes tying John to the chair. She undid his legs and started on his hands, John watched her, looking mildly amused.

"You smell good, Sam. You always smell good, though."

Sam jerked up and looked into his eyes again. There was something there that she hadn't seen before, a flash of a spark. The guard was breaking down. "Oh jeez," she moaned, and looked to Fusco. "Is there a place where I can buy that stuff in bulk?"

"Is that supposed to be funny?" Fusco asked.

One of the other cops groaned as he began to wake up. Fusco walked over and kicked him hard in the head, knocking him out again.

Sam helped John to his feet. He swayed a little, and held onto her.

"Wait, Sam," Fusco said. "You need to shoot me too."

"Oh, yeah, that makes sense," John said, nodding lazily.

"What?"

"You have to shoot him, Sam, otherwise they'll think he's not working for them anymore, that he was helping you."

Sam sat John down in the chair again. "Um… is there a place you'd prefer?"

"Nothing too vital." Lionel turned around.

"But nothing too insignificant either," John added.

Sam looked at John, bewildered. "What's considered as insignificant?"

"Just do it, please!" Fusco said sharply.

Sam cringed as she pulled the trigger and shot him in the calf. Lionel went down, and Sam dragged John with her to the stairs.

They ran across the site to the open part of the fence. Sam pushed John through first before going through herself.

"That's what happens when you go walking into situations," John said simply.

"What are you talking about?"

"I went in there."

"Ye-es, I know, John. That's why I came to get you."

"No, but they were going to meet me."

Sam stopped him. John swayed again, but held onto her. "You arranged a meeting with them?"

John smiled knowingly. "The best way to find out who is trying to kill you is to ask."

"They drugged you and were probably going to toss you off of that building once they were finished with you!"

John shrugged and looked around as if something else caught his attention. Sam reached the corner of the block and sure enough, there was a black Lincoln parked across the street.

"Give me your keys."

"Why?"

"I'm not going to let you drive while you're on this stuff."

John reached into his pocket and pulled out the car keys, but he held them high enough above Sam's head that she couldn't reach them.

"John! We are going to be caught by some very angry, backwards cops! _Give_ me the keys!"

"I can drive."

"Yes, you can drive. But it's my turn." Sam said, trying a different tactic.

John dropped the keys into her hands, and she pulled him across the street to the car.

He leaned back in the seat and closed his eyes as Sam drove.

"Finch?" she asked.

"I'm here."

"I've got him. Listen, do you know about any counter agents to truth serum?"

"Not off of the top of my head. Why?"

"Take a guess." Sam looked over at John, who slowly rotated his head to face her and opened his eyes.

* * *

Finch wasn't at HQ when they arrived. He mentioned something before about meeting Carter. Maybe she'd found out something about John.

Sam dropped John into the chair at the computer desk and went through the rows of shelves.

"You'd think that you would keep some sort of first aid kit or something around here," she muttered as she searched.

"Over here," John called to her.

She went back into the office, where John was pulling a duffel bag out of a cupboard.

"You're not going to talk to me, are you?" he asked as he sat down and she began rummaging through the bag.

"Sure, I'll talk to you," Sam said. She found an ice pack and read the directions on the back. "What do you want to talk about?"

"You know, when I was in high school, I was in the band," John said. "They wanted me to play basketball, but I liked playing the drums."

Sam stopped fiddling with the ice pack and looked up at him. "John, I think that you should try to resist the impulse to… say things right now."

John chuckled. "You remind me of her a lot, you know."

"Who? Wait," Sam stopped herself again. "No, no, don't answer that." She snapped the icepack and crushed up the insides.

Sam pulled a chair up next to his and put the ice pack on the bruise on his jaw. "Hold that there, John," she said.

John placed his hand over hers and locked eyes with her again. "Then sometimes you're completely different," he said softly, holding her hand on the ice pack. "I think that's part of the reason I have a hard time keeping my hands to myself when you're around."

Sam yanked her hand away and leaped up from the chair as though it was scalding hot. "_Where_ is Finch?" she said desperately.

John leaned back in the chair, holding the ice pack to his face and began to hum to himself.

Cautiously, Sam moved back to her chair and addressed the cut on his head.

_I see a little silhouette-o of a man_

_ Scharamouche! Scharamouche! _

_ Will you do the Fandango?_

John started to sing when she cleaned the cut. "That's better than the one you did in the car. I hate 'Dust in the Wind'," she said. "I didn't realize you were so musical."

_Thunderbolts and lightning_

_ Very, very frightening me_

Sam laughed and sang the echo "Galileo" in the correct timing.

_I am just a poor boy, nobody loves me_

_He is just a poor boy from a poor family_

_ Spare him his life from this monstrosity!_

_ Easy come, easy go, will you let me go?_

They quietly sang the rest of the song together until they reached the guitar solo.

"There. That's not too bad," she said, sitting back in her chair.

"Thank you." John still held that strange look in his eyes.

"Was that true? What you said about keeping your hands to yourself?" Sam asked, her emotional curiosity getting the better of her.

"Yep," John said simply.

Sam forced out a laugh as she put the supplies in the bag. "I never would have guessed."

"Of course not," John rolled his eyes. "I don't like encouraging people to stick around."

"Because of your job," Sam guessed.

"Yeah, mostly. And trusting people isn't something I do most of the time."

"I figured that out on my own, actually."

"Because you're smart. Smart and cute. You know," John leaned towards her conspiratorially, lowering his voice. "That's exactly what I thought when we first met. But, I'm never telling you that."

"No, I can see why you wouldn't."

Sam got off of her chair and dug around in the cupboard next to the desk. "Ah-ha!" she said. She pulled out a couple of blankets and cheap pillows. Spreading one of the blankets out on the hard wood floor, Sam sat up against the wall, a pillow behind her back. It was still the middle of the night, and her adrenaline was dying out.

John joined her on the blanket. He unfolded the second blanket and put it over their legs. They rested against each other and stared out into the room.

"You know what I thought when we first met?"

"There was something about hot fudge, right?"

"Oh, that's right. I still have to kill Eva," Sam yawned, covering her mouth. "Do me a favor, John. If you see Eva's name come up as someone you have to protect, don't do anything about it, okay? It'll just be me going after her."

"Sure," John said.

Between her fatigue and the drugs in John's system, Sam felt like they were both judgmentally impaired. Finch needed to show up soon.

"Is it because of your work in the CIA that you have trouble trusting people?" Sam asked, her voice soft.

"Not the work, no," John said. "It was the people. But, you know, the work wasn't ideal either. Someone had to do it, though."

Sam turned her head to look at him. He was very close, close enough that she could almost start counting his eyelashes. "Do you ever want to have a normal life again?"

"Every day."

John started humming another melody as Sam rested her head on his shoulder.


	4. Devil

"Well, isn't that sweet?"

"Sh, Finch! Sam's sleeping."

Half of Sam's face felt numb. She jerked her head up and looked blearily up at Harold Finch. She was still sitting on the floor with John. She must have fallen asleep on him.

"Well, not anymore," John said.

"What time is it?" Sam asked. It was still dark outside.

"It's only been about a half hour since we sat down," John explained.

"Oh. And where have you been?" she said to Finch, who sat next to them in the desk chair. "I almost took advantage of this situation, you know," she said, pointing to John, who still appeared to be under drug's influence.

John laughed. "I'm not drunk, Sam."

Sam looked at him closely. His eyes were still glazed over and he had a playful look on his face. "You might as well be."

"I was just with Detective Carter," Finch said loudly over their voices.

Sam and John shut up and looked up at him.

"There was a murder uptown. A young man, shot in the head. The scene was completely clean."

"An execution," John said seriously.

"Carter thought so as well." Finch rubbed his eyes underneath his glasses, revealing how tired he truly was. "The name of the victim is Robert Jonathan Reese."

Sam leaned forward, her head in her hands. "What are you saying? That he was killed as a warning? The name could be a coincidence."

"Normally, I would agree with you," Finch said gravely. "But the way the murder was carried out led Carter to believe that it was meant for Mr. Reese here. Not as a warning, but as a threat. I believe she's right."

John sighed and ran a hand through his hair. "I can handle myself, Finch," he said, sounding almost like his normal self.

Sam guffawed at the statement. "Normally, I'd agree with you," she said mimicking Finch's tone. She looked up at Finch. "Do you know what this fool did tonight? He _walked_ into HR, on purpose. He set up a meeting with them. They captured him, beat on him, tied him up, and drugged him. It's lucky that Lionel was there, otherwise they might have chucked him off of a roof."

"That's happened to me before, Sam. Am I dead? No." John said smugly.

Finch and Sam blinked at him for a moment. "When did – no! No, never mind." Sam turned to Harold again. "What should we do?"

"Detective Carter is working on the case, but I doubt she'll find anything. This killing doesn't seem to fit what we know about any of these groups."

"Elias thinks killing like that is unnecessary and a waste of time," Sam began ticking off the groups one by one. "HR are still cops, aren't they? They wouldn't bother doing something like that, even if they wanted to threaten someone."

"The CIA will do whatever is necessary to complete the mission," John said. "Your country needs you," he added with a laugh. "It's funny, because if our country knew what we've done, what they're still doing, you would lobby for us to be put away."

"That's not you, John. Don't say anymore about it, okay?"

"Okay," John agreed, nodding his head.

Sam looked anxiously at Finch. "But they wouldn't just _kill_ someone to get a message across, would they?"

"Depends on the message," John said flatly.

* * *

Sam's head buzzed from her fatigue and with the information she had become privy to before John fell asleep right there on the floor of HQ. Finch told her to go home soon after, that he would call her with any news.

She went home and took a nap, only to have it interrupted by a phone call. She didn't recognize the number, but answered it just in case.

"Hi, Samantha?"

"Yes?"

"This is Kevin… you know, from the speed dating thing?"

What in the _hell_? "Hi Kevin. I don't remember giving you my number."

Kevin cleared his throat nervously. "You didn't. Your friend Eva gave it to me after I asked her for it. I know we didn't get a lot of time to talk, but I – well, I liked you and wanted to have another chance without a time limit. Will you have dinner with me tonight?"

Sam waited another second, making sure Kevin was finished talking. She would rather wait to hear from Finch or John. But waiting around, alone, in her apartment didn't sound very appealing.

"When do you want to meet?"

* * *

The time was arranged for seven o'clock that evening, at a bar and grill that, according to Kevin, had the most amazing food. It felt strange, planning to participate in something so normal after what she'd been through the past couple of days.

Sam didn't bother to care about where they were meeting, or what kind of food they'd be having. Her thoughts continued to go back to John, and the danger he was in.

At a quarter to six that evening, Sam stepped out of the shower. She wrapped her hair up in a towel, and slipped on a bathrobe when she heard a knock at the door. Padding quietly over to the door, Sam saw a piece of paper slide in from underneath the door.

She picked it up, and looked through the peep hole in the door. No one was there.

It was a single sheet of paper, folded in half. Her name was written on the outside in a neat hand. She opened it. It was a note, handwritten, and to the point:

_Samantha,_

_I hope this finds you well. I would like to meet with you._

_6:30pm, this evening. I have found a place that is conveniently_

_close to you and will honor our privacy._

_Please do not misinterpret this as a request._

_Yours,_

_Carl Elias_

An address was listed below the note and signature in the same handwriting. Sam's hands shook as she held the piece of paper. She didn't know what to react to first, the fact that this was most likely Elias calling in his debt from her, or the very idea that he knew where she lived.

Sam dropped the letter in front of the door and ran back into her bedroom. Her first instinct was to call John or Finch and spill everything. But, she couldn't do that. John could not risk interfering on her behalf this time. She wouldn't let him. Elias may still be the one who's planning to kill him. But who knows what he would do after Sam paid him off?

She sat down on her bed, her face in her hands and tried to breathe.

* * *

The tight feeling in her chest wouldn't go away. Sam walked down the street in heels, dressed for her date with Kevin, which she'd pushed back to seven thirty that evening. First, she'd meet with the mob boss, and then she'd be normal again and have dinner with an overly talkative guy. Her phone rang, but she ignored the call.

She reached the address, and double checked it to be sure. Sam stared at the pink and white sign of a strip club that blinked over her head. Now feeling uneasy for more than one reason, she held her breath, and walked in.

The place was dimly lit, and the base of a generic techno song pounded in the background. It smelled of beer and cheap perfume. Sam clutched her purse to her as she moved past the stage and the short runway. It was slightly reassuring, feeling the shape of her gun inside her purse as she walked. She averted her eyes from the two dancers currently on the stage and runway, looking at her feet as she approached the bar.

"Are you looking for your husband, honey?"

A woman, fully clothed, stood behind the bar and smiled knowingly at her.

"I'm – um – I was supposed to meet someone here."

As she spoke a hand fell upon her shoulder. Startled, she turned around and looked into the strange face of a man she'd never seen before. The lights from the stage set into relief a long scar that curved from the corner of his eye down his cheek.

"He's waiting for you," he said in a rough voice.

Sam grabbed her purse and followed him into one of the private rooms.

The décor was even gaudier than that of the main room. A silver chandelier hung low from the ceiling, and wherever she looked around the circular room was glittering, sparkly drapes and pillows. All of it was illuminated by a soft pink light coming from inside the chandelier.

"Hello, Samantha. Have a seat."

Elias sat upon a curved couch against the wall. He nodded his head. Scarface, and two other men exited the room. Sam was alone with him. She sat at the far end of the couch, her purse in her lap.

"You look very nice," Elias commented, pleasantly.

"I have a date." Sam's eyes darted around the room.

"Good for you."

Sam finally looked him in the face. "Why are we meeting here?"

"It is an odd place to conduct business," Elias confirmed. "But it is public, somewhat, and no one will notice or disturb us here."

"You own this place, right?"

"I do."

Sam sighed and her phone rang. She quickly pulled it out of her purse and ignored the call.

"I suppose we should get down to business, then, so you can be on your way."

Sam nodded nervously as Elias leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees. "I can see that you're… concerned about what I may ask of you."

He always managed to decorate every uncomfortable situation with euphemisms. Sam nodded again.

"You don't need to worry about it too much. I believe this will be easier than you think."

Sam couldn't relax in spite of his reassurance. "What do you want?"

Elias looked down at the thickly carpeted floor as though he was lost in thought for a moment. "When John saved my life, he mentioned some sort of source that is never wrong – his words, not mine. That's how he knew that my life was in danger ahead of time, and he got to me before the Russians did."

"Yes, he said that to me too," Sam said, believing that confirming what Elias already knew wouldn't do any harm.

"What I'd like to know is what, exactly, is John's source?" He lifted his eyebrows and waited.

Sam's voice cracked as her brain worked frantically. John had never told her where he got his information from. Just that there was some sort of source that he and Finch trusted implicitly. She never thought to ask, and the fact that they had never told her led her to believe that it wasn't something they openly discussed with just anyone.

"But I – I don't know what it is. I swear I don't," Sam said innocently. "I don't know what he uses. I just know that somehow, he gets names that are going to be involved in a murder."

"Names?"

"Yes. That's all I know."

Elias smiled and sat closer to her. "Samantha, I believe you, but my request still stands. There are ways for you to find out, and then get the information to me. If you do this for me, I will _continue_ to leave John alone, as you asked."

"But, John would never tell me," Sam said desperately. If only she had thought to ask him last night, then this would be a lot easier. Then again, maybe it wouldn't. If Elias knew about their source; if he somehow got access to it … Sam couldn't imagine what he would do with that information.

"You are such a naïve little thing, aren't you? Believing only what you see. I think you underestimate what John feels, what he feels for you. Are you aware that he followed you here tonight?"

Sam couldn't get angry at his condescension, she snapped to attention. "He's here?"

"He followed you in. He's sitting at the bar."

Sam took a breath and released it slowly. "Okay. Will you tell me something first? And be honest, if that's possible."

"Of course," Elias said with interest.

"Are you planning on killing John? Have you set up some trap or something for him that he'll run into, so you can kill him?"

"I just told you that I've left him alone, and will continue to do so. You don't believe me?"

Elias took her hand and held it despite her pulling. "I have not made plans of any kind concerning John. You'll notice that he is here, and I have left him alone."

Sam looked into his eyes in that shadowy room. Frankly, she didn't know if she could believe him or not. And unfortunately, she didn't have a choice. Sam nodded her agreement and stood.

"Thank you, Samantha. I'll check in with you later." Elias stood with her.

"Good luck on your date," he said kindly, and parted the drapes for her as she left.


	5. Storm

Sam practically ran out of the club, but not before she caught a glimpse of a tall man in a long black coat, sitting at the bar. She had to convince herself not to kick the stool out from under him on her way out.

Once outside, she paused, leaning against the building as she gasped for breath. She hadn't realized how her heart was racing while she was in there. Her hands shook with the adrenaline pumping through her body, and she was already exhausted.

She hailed a taxi, and gave the driver the address to the bar where she was to meet Kevin.

Her phone rang once again while in the cab, she ignored it and tried to calm down.

How could she possibly get that information out of either John or Harold? They had plenty of secrets, and she strongly suspected that this was a big one. Even if she got the information, what would Elias do with it? That was what frightened her the most. Elias would have an incredible advantage over them if he also had access to their source.

But who's to say that he'd be able to get access to it? Just because Sam told him what it was doesn't mean that he'd automatically be able to get to it. It was a weak justification, but at least it was something.

Sam's breathing was steadier when she stepped out of the cab, and walked across the street to the bar and grill. It was a light evening. There were several tables available from the little she could see through the front window. And, she was early.

Sam stopped at the door and looked around. She didn't see him. People, minding their own business, walking in either direction, passed her on the sidewalk. Several of them carried unopened umbrellas.

Sam glanced up at the sky. It was darkening, partially because the sun was nearly set, but also because of a large black cloud moving in overhead. They were in for a big storm.

"Come out, come out, wherever you are," Sam sang, and received some odd looks from passers by.

She waited, and sure enough, John walked steadily towards her from the alley next to the restaurant. It was like night and day, the difference in his demeanor as he walked towards her from when she last saw him. She saw it in his eyes when he approached her. The guard was back up, completely impenetrable. She didn't understand why exactly, but that angered her.

Sam frowned and folded her arms in front of her. The crowds around them began to thin as the storm cloud settled in overhead.

"What are you doing? Have you tapped my phone again?" she dug into her purse and pulled out her phone.

"No, Sam," John answered calmly.

She turned off the blue tooth anyway.

"Finch said you weren't answering your phone and asked me to check on you."

"Did he find out anything?"

"You'll probably laugh when you hear this – "

"I doubt it."

"HR is planning to take on Elias. They want to shut him down because he's gaining too much control. Lionel finally found out something useful."

"Great. An underground war."

"Maybe."

"So, it wasn't you they were planning on taking on, then."

"Doesn't look like it."

"How is Lionel?"

"He's fine. It was minor."

"So… not insignificant?" Sam lifted her eyebrows.

"No, not insignificant." John gave her a hint of a smile. That's all he would ever really give her. It would always be there, the delicate selection of words before he spoke; the stone-faced expression; all of it would stay in front of him like an invisible shield.

"Well, you found me. And I'm fine, you're fine, we're all fine," Sam said quickly.

"What is it, Sam?"

Sam heard the slight exasperation in his voice and it made her anger boil over. "You know, I seriously think I will ask Lionel about getting some more of that sodium penta – penti – "

"Pentothal?"

"Yes, that stuff. Because it seems to me that the only time I get some sort of honesty out of you is when you're completely stoned, like last night."

John stepped closer to her, his voice lowered, and his eyes dark. "You're talking about honesty when you have secret meetings in strip clubs?"

"You have your secrets, I have mine," Sam snapped. She held her ground against him. His intimidation tactics wouldn't work. She refused to let him gain control like that. "You know what's funny, John? You know what's _hilarious_?" She closed her eyes for a moment, her fatigue fogging her thoughts. "I'm meeting this guy here tonight who called me up and asked me to dinner. He seems really nice too. But I'm going to botch it up! I'm going to screw it up, and it'll probably be on purpose. Do you know why?"

John looked apprehensive. "Why?"

"Be-cause! You - " She swatted him on the arm a few times as she said the words.

"That's starting to sting." He said testily, grabbing her wrist. Sam pulled on her arm but John's grip was like a vice. He pulled her closer to him and Sam tried beating back her terror at the look on his face. She couldn't tell if he was about to kiss her or smack her. And at that moment, either option seemed horrifying.

"Samantha?"

They both froze. Sam turned her head. Kevin stood next to her, his eyes moving curiously between the two of them behind a pair of thick framed glasses. Sam remembered the long-ish hair, but not the glasses. John released his hold on her, letting his arms drop to his sides.

"Is he bothering you?" Kevin asked, pointing at John. He instinctively put himself protectively in front of her.

For a second, Sam considered the two men in front of her. Kevin was shorter than John, but he was thickly built. It would be an interesting brawl, to say the least.

"No, no, Kevin," Sam looked at John. "Actually, yes, he bothers me all the time, but it's fine. This is my friend, John. John, this is Kevin."

John nodded curtly at Kevin, who continued eyeing him suspiciously.

"Kevin? Why don't you get us a table? I'll be there in a minute," Sam touched him on the shoulder, bringing his attention away from John.

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure," Sam smiled.

Kevin walked past her and into the restaurant.

Street lights began turning on in the semi-darkness left by the sunset and the storm cloud. The streets were emptying quickly, people rushing to their destinations in attempt to beat the storm.

"His hair is a little long," John commented.

"Not everyone can be perfectly clean cut like you," Sam said sassily.

"Those glasses are fake too."

"I know. I don't understand that either. Does he think the glasses make a difference in the _appearance_ of his intellect? Or does he just like the way they look on his face?"

That got a bigger smile. "You should probably go in. I'll leave you alone, I promise."

"No, John, that's not what I meant. That's not what I want either."

"Sam, with someone like Kevin, you can be happy," John said seriously. "You can have a family again."

"You know what? I would rather be miserable with this weirdness," Sam gestured between herself and John, "than be happy with Kevin or someone else. I've been going to therapy since my family's funeral, John, and I know for a fact that my therapist thinks I've gone off the deep end. And maybe I have. But, I can swim."

"Sam – "

"No, John. Just, forget everything I said, please. I don't want you to leave me alone, okay?"

Thunder rumbled above them. Sam felt heavy drops on her head. She moved underneath the awning of the restaurant, John with her.

"Okay, Sam," John said.

Lightning flashed across the sky as a large, black SUV pulled up to the curb. Sam glanced at it, as did John. It stopped directly in front of them and John pushed Sam behind him, into the alley.

"Hey! What are you doing?" Sam started out of the alley, but John pushed her back, hard. She stumbled back and would have fallen over if she hadn't run into the side of a dumpster.

People were getting out of the SUV. John stood in the alley entrance, facing them.

"Hello, John," said a man in a coat that matched John's. His skin was pale and his eyes were dark. Sam inched forward, peering past John. The man's expression was unreadable, like John's was sometimes.

"Mark," John said stiffly. His hand moved to his back, underneath his jacket.

"I wouldn't do that, my friend," Mark said. He took a step towards him. Two other men drew weapons and had them trained on John.

Thunder rolled across the sky as it began to pour down rain.

"Do what?" John said smartly.

Mark gave him a little smile that didn't reach his eyes. "Give me a chance, John. After all, we've been through a lot together."

"Too much."

"Maybe," Mark nodded. "But, if you come with us, we won't shoot you, how's that?"

"Don't do it, John!" Sam whispered behind him.

John lowered his head, glancing once over his shoulder. Leaving his weapon, he put his hands up and Mark grabbed onto him. Another man pulled John's gun from his back and tossed it into a nearby garbage can.

They piled into the SUV and sped off as Sam's phone rang.

She ran forward and stood under the awning.

"What happened? John isn't responding," Finch said anxiously.

"They took him. He just _let_ them take him!" Sam shouted over the sound of the storm. "Who are they?"

"They are from the CIA," Finch said flatly.

Sam swore. "He said they just wanted to talk to him."

"Sam, Mr. Reese is a mistake that they have been trying to cover up. They have already failed once, I doubt they will allow that to happen a second time."

"Track him as long as you can, Finch. Call Lionel and Carter. I'm going to follow them."

"Already ahead of you," Finch said.

Sam entered the restaurant, her hair and her dress dripping. She walked in and found Kevin sitting patiently in a booth. He stared at her as she approached. She must have looked a fine mess.

"Kevin. My friend is in trouble. I need to borrow your car."

* * *

Just a little note:

First of all, thanks for reading and to those of you who've posted such encouraging reviews! :) Honestly, I never thought I'd get as far into this as I have. But, I'm delighted that you're enjoying it! I'm only hoping that between coming up with new plot points and working overtime (Yes, unfortunately, I have to keep a day job.) that this will remain coherent. I will keep trying to post a chapter every day in the evenings. But just in case I fail in doing so sometimes, that doesn't mean I've quit entirely. Thanks, and onward!


	6. Jump

Basically, Sam stared Kevin down until he agreed. But he refused to let her go off on her own with his car. If he was allowed to come, then it was a deal. Sam had quickly agreed. They ran across the street to the little blue Mazda parked along the curb. Sam fell into the passenger seat as Kevin started the engine.

She opened her purse, and rummaged around until she found the little flesh colored earpiece rolling around on the bottom. She put it in her ear and linked her phone up to it.

"Finch, where is he?"

Kevin looked at her and was about to respond when she tapped her ear, and he understood. "Cool blue tooth," he muttered as he drove.

"They're heading toward the water front. West on 97th."

"Head west, Kevin, towards the river," Sam instructed.

"Who is Kevin?" Finch asked.

"I'll explain later," she muttered.

"Not that I'm complaining or anything, this is certainly an interesting first date. But where are we going?" Kevin turned the wipers up as they drove down the soaked street. Thankfully, they were making decent time. Few people wanted to be out in this mess.

"I don't know, yet."

"You're not messing with me, are you? That would be kind of sick."

"Yes it would. I know what this looks like, but I swear I'm not kidding."

Kevin nodded, indicating that he believed her. "Your friend, he's legit, right?"

Sam smoothed her hair back, pulling a clip from her purse. "What do you mean?"

"He's not a criminal or anything, right?"

Sam thought for a long moment. "Well, he's never been _arrested_," she said slowly.

"Not in this country, at least," Finch corrected in her ear.

* * *

The sky was black, and the rain made visibility nearly impossible.

Finch guided them to a building overlooking the Hudson. It was mostly used for storage. They pulled up to the side of the building and Kevin killed the engine as Sam took her gun out of her purse.

"Whoa! Okay, what's going on, Samantha?"

"Sam," she corrected. "Hold this." Sam took out an extra magazine from her purse and handed it to Kevin.

He took it wordlessly, holding it delicately as though it was a grenade. Sam ejected the old magazine from the weapon into her purse and took the new one from Kevin. She locked it in and loaded the rounds.

"Is it wrong that I found that almost unbearably sexy?"

"It's deceptive. Trust me," Sam said, and opened the car door.

"Wait," Kevin held onto her arm, then released it when he realized it was the arm that held the gun. "Sam, are you a cop or something?"

Sam smiled as she was reminded sharply of the time she asked John that very same question. "No, I'm more of a – well, I sort of assist a couple of vigilantes."

"That's a bad word," Finch said. "We don't use that word, Miss Tudin."

"So, you're like Alfred?"

Sam understood the reference immediately, and considered the idea for a moment. "More like… Catwoman."

"Unlike those people, however, you can be killed," Finch reminded her.

They got out of the car and ran to the first door she found. It was unlocked and they ditched into the building. The main floor had a high ceiling and was crammed to the hilt with gear for water sports and travel. There were jet skies, clumps of fishing poles, ores, kayaks, and even small sail boats stored in the place.

Sam turned and looked at her date. "Look, Kevin. Thank you for helping me out and driving me. But, you don't have to stay. It would probably be safer if you didn't."

"I feel like I've just stepped into a movie," Kevin said airily. "How will you get home?"

"How gallant," Finch said sarcastically. "He'll likely turn out to be collateral damage if you don't get rid of him."

"I'll find a way," Sam said to Kevin.

Kevin looked thoughtful for a moment. "I don't think so." He took the fake glasses off of his face and stored them in his pants pocket.

"Kevin, you could get killed. I'm not kidding."

"Still sexy," Kevin said, waggling his eyebrows.

Sam sighed with frustration. "Fine. But if you get shot, it'll be your own fault."

"At least the world would be rid of an apparent idiot," Finch said. Sam could hear his eyes rolling over the phone.

"No, I don't think he thinks this is as serious as it is," Sam replied.

They moved through the stowed items, making a path through the first floor of the building.

"Finch, I don't see anyone. Are you sure they're here?"

"No," Finch replied honestly. "This weather is interfering a little. You are close, that's all I can tell you for now."

Sam's heels tapped gently on the cement floor as she walked, Kevin following her uselessly. She stopped by a small boat and took off her shoes, dumping them into the boat. Her purse went as well after she took her phone out of it and put it in a tiny pocket in her dress.

They walked, more quietly, through the rest of the space until they reached another door. This led into what looked like a reception area. There was a front desk set up with multiple phone lines hooked up, chairs along the wall for waiting customers.

Sam moved to the large front window. The rain was still coming down. The river looked like a great black creature, writhing in the banks.

"Who are they?" Kevin asked.

"Where?"

"They're on that pier," Kevin pointed and Sam squinted through the darkness. There were people there, about fifty meters away. Sam counted five or six of them, she couldn't be sure. They were spread out as though waiting for a ceremony to start.

"It's John," she said. "They have him out on the pier. It's the river, why is it always the river?" she muttered. The last time she was this close to the river, she had nearly frozen to death, being left out all night in record winter weather.

"It's the best place to dump a body," Kevin said simply. "The water takes care of a lot of evidence."

Sam stared at him and he shrugged. "I read a lot of mystery novels."

"I'm afraid he's right, Sam."

"It's an execution, then. Just like the warning," Sam muttered. "There are too many of them, Finch. I can't just run out there."

Sam practically heard Finch thinking over the phone. "Detectives Carter and Fusco are on their way. However, the last time Mr. Reese encountered his old friends from the CIA, there was a sniper positioned on a higher level somewhere – "

Sam didn't need to hear anymore. She ran out of the reception area and back into the warehouse, searching for stairs or an elevator, even a rope would do.

Spotting a set of stairs in the corner to her right, she sprinted towards them. She slowed as she passed a stack of bundles of piping, and looked at them thoughtfully.

"Um, I think they're for controlling the rudder on smaller boats," Kevin offered.

Sam slid one out of the packaging and weighed it in her hand. It was pretty solid, a thick metal pipe normally used to steer a little boat. She held onto it and moved up the stairs.

She opened the door as quietly as possible, it creaked as it swung open, but the sound was muffled by the rain hitting the roof of the building. Sam stepped out, her numb feet settling on loose gravel.

"Kevin, listen to me," she said seriously. "Stay right here. If anything happens to me, I want you to go for help." He looked as though he was about to protest, but Sam gripped her weapon and he went silent.

She crept around the corner of the doorway. Sure enough there was a figure, dressed all in black, crouched over a large black rifle that pointed in the direction of the pier.

One shot. If she screwed this up, she was dead. Sam gripped the pipe in her hands like a baseball bat. Her heart pounding and her mind buzzing, she ran full out across the roof.

"Hey!" she shouted. The man began to stand and turned just in time for his face to collide with the pipe Sam swung at him.

His head snapped back around and his body crumpled into a heap. She dropped the pipe, gulping in breaths of air and rain. The man was dressed just like Mark. Blood trickled from his lips over his dark skin.

Sam grabbed the man by his coat and pulled him away from the mounted rifle as Kevin ran up to her. He stared at the body for a moment.

"Did you kill him?"

"I don't think so," Sam said as she knelt in front of the rifle and looked through the scope.

She positioned the weapon comfortably, her right hand searching for the trigger as her left steadied the rifle.

"Fancy-shmancy," she said. "Night vision and a laser sight."

The figures by the pier came clearly into view in shades of gray through the scope. There were five men positioned there, but she didn't see John.

"They're just standing there, waiting," she muttered and looked away from the scope. Lightning flashed and she looked up.

"Kevin! Get down!"

Kevin squatted next to her.

"John's not with them," she said and looked through the scope again. "Wait – there's someone else coming."

Two other men appeared on the walk in front of the pier. One held firmly onto the other. They turned and Sam saw Mark and John. John was a mess. His lip was swollen and a thick streak of blood went down the side of his face.

"They beat him up," she said flatly. "Bastards."

Sam watched John carefully. He was still talking to them.

"Can you hear him, Finch?"

"I can do better than that."

Sam heard a crackling in her earpiece and then John's voice. "... happened. Your mistake, Mark. Are you still even working for them officially anymore?"

Mark punched John across the face. John stumbled back a little onto the pier.

"You are a mistake, John, that I will not regret rectifying," Mark said. He put his finger to his ear.

"Uh-oh," Sam said and looked at the unconscious agent next to them. He wore an earpiece as well with a small cord coming from it that went under his shirt collar.

"He's giving the order to fire," Sam said.

"Don't. Just wait," Finch advised.

Sam went back to the scope. She heard John laugh. "Is something not going according to plan? That's not a very new concept for you."

"In dealing with mobsters that is usually the case, as you would know. It doesn't matter," Mark said, drawing his own weapon. "More than one way, right John?"

"Elias' assistance always comes with a price. You'll definitely have to pay for this one, Mark. That's what you get when you deal with the devil."

"That's how they found him so fast," Finch said, his voice wavering.

"Step away."

John's conversation blended into the background as Sam felt the pressure of the gun barrel against her head and Kevin pulled at her arm. She looked up. Bleeding and soaked, the agent stood to his full height as they did. His weapon remained trained between Sam's eyes.

"Who are you?" he asked.

"I'm Sam, this is Kevin," she said simply. "This is our first date."

Kevin had the courtesy to laugh nervously.

The agent took a moment to appear confused, then the expression melted away after they heard a skull cracking _pang!_ He fell upon himself for the second time that evening, revealing Detective Fusco, the pipe in his hand.

"I owe you a kiss, Lionel," Sam said. "Where's Carter?"

"She's searching downstairs."

"They're not there." Sam moved back to the rifle. "They're on the pier."

She found the trigger again and made sure the safety was off. Her mind calmed itself as she heard the voice of her Dad when he taught her how to shoot. _"Always remember, Sam, breathe in, and let it go slowly, when you relax, you shoot."_

Things slowed dramatically as Sam rotated the rifle slightly to the right, away from John. Her site was on Mark, on his temple.

"No, Sam." The words were soft, and barely registered on her earpiece. It was John. Sam moved the rifle back and saw him shaking his head slowly. He must have seen the laser site.

"What did you say?" Mark snapped. "Should I give you the chance for some last words?"

John didn't respond.

Sam growled in her throat and repositioned the rifle. The site moved down to Mark's back. Breathe in, breathe out. She fired.

Mark was hit on his side and went down, but not before he got a couple of shots off himself. Sam watched in horror as John was hit and was pushed off of the edge of the pier into the water.

She didn't move from the rifle, though. The other men were moving. She fired off a few more rounds, hitting a couple of them. They scattered.

"Shit," she said getting to her feet and grabbing her gun. She ran past Kevin and Fusco, down the stairs to the main floor of the building. "Shit, shit, shit," she repeated under her breath.

"What happened?" Finch asked.

"John fell in the river," Sam said breathlessly as she moved.

"Hey!" Detective Carter shouted when she saw her, but Sam didn't stop.

She ran through the reception area, ripping open the front door and sprinted out into the rain. It was lighter, but still smacked into her face when she ran into it. But, Sam didn't feel it. She didn't hear the others chasing after her.

She ran to the gate in front of the building, shot off the lock and yanked it open. The men who had been there were nowhere to be seen when she ran onto the pier and reached the edge.

John was gone.

Fusco wheezed his way up to her, followed closely by Kevin. They stared down into the blackness of the water.

"Finch, if either of us dies, I'm going to kill him!"

"What are you – ?" Sam took out her earpiece and her phone and handed them to Fusco, along with her gun.

She jumped off the pier.


	7. Breathe

It was like running into a wall made of solid steel. The water's temprature was several degrees below the air around it, and it knocked the wind out of her. Sam came up to the surface, gulping in a last breath of air before diving.

The shouts from the pier, the rain, the thunder; all of the noise vanished in an instant, and Sam was alone in the cold, murky water. The dress she wore and her hair floated around her like a halo. Her ears filled with the pressure and deep sound of the water surrounding her. Her eyes stung as she squinted through the darkness, and moved deeper.

Lightning flashed and lit up the river for less than a second. Sam kept going until the next flash. Something white several meters below her weakly reflected the light and she swam towards it. Reaching out Sam grabbed onto John's white shirt and pulled him to her. He was unconscious, blood on his chest and face. She kissed him on the corner of his mouth and looked up.

Wrapping her arm around his middle, she kicked and paddled furiously at the water, forcing her way up. Needles pressed into her lungs as the need to exhale overwhelmed her. John slipped in her arm and she dug her fingers into his shirt to keep her grip as she struggled to get to the surface.

Sam couldn't hold it any longer and exhaled as her head breached the surface of the river. She coughed and spluttered at the water that entered her lungs, but breathed in the sweet, cool air. Her hand splashed upon the surface and her legs kicked frantically under her as she supported John with her. His head lolled onto her shoulder as she held him above the water, and swam towards the pier.

Carter, Lionel and Kevin stared in disbelief as she swam towards them. Carter reached down first as Sam forced her way to the pier, her muscles screaming in protest.

She held onto the wooden frame as she tried to hoist John up to them. But he was much too heavy for her to lift. Carter knelt down and Kevin joined her. They grabbed onto his suit jacket and hefted him up. Slowly, John was pulled onto the pier.

Sam let out a breath of exhaustion as she treaded water for another moment until more hands came down for her. She reached up, grabbing onto Lionel and Kevin's arms. They pulled her out, dragging her onto the pier.

Her dress clung to her, the skirt and her hair sopping as she slopped down to her knees on the wooden planks.

"He's not breathing," Carter said, crouching over him.

Sam crawled over to them. There was only one wound that she could see on the far right side of his chest. It didn't look like it had been fatal. Carter appeared to come to the same conclusion when she rolled him onto his side. Sam pulled as Carter pushed until he was lying on his left side. Water leaked from his lips. Carter pushed her hands up against his back, trying to force the water out of his lungs.

"Come on, John," Sam pleaded. "Come on you freaking jackass! If you leave me like this, I will find you. I will hunt you down, wherever you are, and I will – "

John's entire frame convulsed violently and he coughed. Water spilled out of his mouth and nose. He gasped and rolled onto his back, opening his eyes. Sam bent over him, her tears mixing with the rain, and her hair dripping all over him as she laughed hysterically and collapsed onto his side.

"I'm curious," Carter said. "What was the end of that threat going to be, exactly?"

* * *

Rain pattered against the window. John woke and looked around. He didn't recognize the bedroom, nor did he understand why he was fully clothed, lying on a made bed. He sat up when he heard his name.

She entered the room wearing a simple gown of white that moved gently with her as she walked in.

"Jess," John breathed her name as though it gave him life.

"Hello, John," she smiled the smile that had carried him away when he first saw her.

He didn't hesitate. John took her and pulled her close, holding her tightly in his arms, believing that she'd truly disappear if he let go for even a second. He stroked her light hair and thanked whatever God in existence that it was over.

"You're here," he said quietly.

"I'm here." She kissed him gently.

Holding her face in his hands, he kissed her hungrily again, and again. They turned as one and moved onto the bed. She pushed his suit jacket off of his shoulders and onto the floor. John slipped his hands under her back, his mouth moving from her lips to her ear, and neck.

She laughed softly. "I love you."

John stopped suddenly and lifted his head up. Sam looked up at him from the pillow, her dark hair in a soft pool around her head.

"What is it, John?" She slipped her hand under his collar to his neck and jaw as she moved herself up to meet his lips again.

John's eyes snapped open. His head jerked up, and he immediately regretted the movement. His body seized up from the shooting pain up his arm and neck. He let out a groan and lay back down.

"John?"

Sam's voice came from outside the room. It was Sam's bedroom he was lying in. John recognized the floral pattern on the blankets that matched the closed drapes over the window. The lights were out and a fan was spinning quietly on the bedside table.

The door opened a crack as she peeked in.

"Hello, Sunshine," she said, seeing that he was awake.

John tried sitting up, but it was more difficult than he'd anticipated.

"Hang on, let me help you," Sam ran to the bedside and supported his right arm, which was held tightly in a sling, and stuffed pillows behind his back.

John sat back, and looked down at his chest. He was wearing a t-shirt that was not his. He looked under the collar and saw the white bandage on the right side of his chest that went under his arm.

Sam opened the curtains, letting in light from the still cloudy sky. She turned to him and smiled. "You look _fabulous._"

John squinted at her. She climbed up on the other side of the bed and knelt next to him. "Let me see," she said, lifting her hand to his face.

He jerked his head back instinctively and Sam stopped. "Are you all right?" She asked innocently. "Besides the obvious, that is."

John tried to relax. "Yeah, I'm fine."

Sam cupped her hand over his forehead, then his cheek. "Oh good," she said with relief. "You had a fever last night. I was afraid you were getting pneumonia or something. But it's gone."

She rubbed her hand over the stubble on his face. "Kind of scruffy, though," she laughed. Her smile left and her face fell. "Why are you looking at me like I might explode?"

John blinked and relaxed his features. "Sorry. I had a weird dream," he said, smiling sheepishly.

"Good or bad?" Sam asked.

John hesitated. "I'm not sure."

Sam shrugged. "I wouldn't give it too much merit. It's probably the pain killers. And you have been hit in the head a lot recently. You were shot barely in the chest, and the other one grazed your neck." She gently tilted his head and examined the angry red streak on the nape of his neck. "I should put some more of that stuff on it." She got off the bed. "I've got some food for you. I don't care what you say, you need to eat," she continued as she left the room.

A minute later, Sam entered the room again carrying a tray with eggs, toast and jam, and orange juice. She set it down in front of John and checked the bandage that was on his head. He hadn't noticed it before she touched it.

"They sure did a number on you," she muttered. "I'll have to change that again."

"Sam."

"Yeah?"

"You'll have to fill me in a little bit. Why are we in your apartment?"

"I told Finch that I'd take care of you, but he wouldn't tell me where you live, like it's some great big secret."

"The less you know – "

"Blah, blah, blah, yes," Sam mocked his tone as she sat on the bed next to him. "So we brought you here after we took you to a crazy doctor Finch knows. You were kind of in and out of it. But, he patched you up, we brought you here, and you're going to be okay." She smiled as she said the last words.

John took a hold of the fork with his left hand and awkwardly scooped a bite of eggs into his mouth.

"I knew you were right handed," Sam said as she watched him. "If you need help shaving, I can – "

"You won't need to do that."

"Yeah, you'll just manfully slice your ear off instead of have me help you."

John took another bite as he thought on last night's events. He remembered waking up on the pier, seeing Sam's face above him. She was soaked to the bone, but he had been as well.

"Finch said he'd come see you later. He's doing a little research right now."

"Research?"

"On your friend, Mark. We heard what you said to him. Finch is trying to find out if he's still even working for the CIA."

"He's not," John said solidly.

"How do you know?"

"He was… different. I just could tell. He's turned this into something personal."

Sam pulled her legs up in front of her as she thought. "Wouldn't that make it easier for you? If he's not working for the government, you both are – "

"On a level playing field," John looked at her with a hint of a smile. "What happened to him?"

"I don't know. He was gone when I went to get you," Sam said, her eyes roaming elsewhere in the room, away from John's face.

She grabbed half a piece of toast from his tray and started munching on it as he watched her. "Thank you, Sam. You were amazing," he said softly.

Sam's neck reddened and she smiled at her lap. "John, I have to be honest with you. I don't really know how any of that happened last night. I remember doing everything, but it's like something just took me over and was controlling me. I can't explain it."

"That's exactly how it happens sometimes."

"Detective Carter tried to confiscate my gun."

John nearly snorted. "And?"

"It's more legal than any of the ones you carry around," Sam said, raising her eyebrows. "She gave it back to me. And it's not like I shot anybody with that particular gun anyway."

"Finch called Lionel _and_ Carter? That's surprising," John vaguely remembered seeing Carter above him as well, and Lionel in the background somewhere.

"Harold said that he called Carter. Lionel happened to be with her. So, you don't need to worry yet. He knows about her, but not the other way around," Sam explained. "I didn't realize that was going on until last night."

She brushed some crumbs off of her blanket and took another bite of toast when someone knocked at the front door. Sam leaped off the bed and scampered into the living room.

John heard the door open.

"Hey!" Sam said happily.

"Where's the invalid?" John recognized Eva's voice. She was obviously referring to him.

"Give him here," Sam demanded.

Out of the corner of his eye John saw a white something poking from under the alarm clock on the bedside table. Curious, he reached over and tugged at it, pulling it free. A folded piece of paper with Sam's name on it - He sat up, stuffing the paper behind him as someone approached the bedroom. Eva poked her face in and let out a surprised whistle. She came in and sat at the foot of the bed. "You look all right for someone who fell down two flights of stairs."

"What?"

"Sam said you fell last night, right?"

John glanced up to the doorway to see Sam holding Eva's little boy, Ben, and violently nodding her head.

"Oh, yeah, it was pretty bad. That doesn't usually happen to me," John played along.

Eva looked at him curiously. "But she says that you're pretty accident prone, always needing a bandage somewhere…"

"Yes, that's true. But it hasn't happened in a while, is more what I meant. I've been lucky I guess," he shot Sam a look that made her writhe a little.

"I'm glad you're okay, John," Eva said.

"Thank you," John smiled.

Sam came into the room with little Ben. "Eva, your child reeks. I think he's loaded."

"Now he's my child," Eva sighed and looked up at the ceiling.

Sam paused as she thought over what Eva said. "But… he _is_ your child."

Eva shook her head and grabbed Ben from Sam on her way out of the room.

"Fell down the stairs?" John said, keeping his amusement in check.

"Oh yeah," Sam said sarcastically, waving her hands in the air. "Let's say what really happened. My friend, John, was hunted down and shot by ex agents of the CIA."

"But, stairs?"

"What do you want me to do? I couldn't say you were mugged. She's seen you fight hand to hand."

She climbed back on the bed and sat facing him as John finished his breakfast. "She came to see you. Well – okay, I invited her over because – " Sam scooted closer to him and lowered her voice. "I know that there's this weird, silent agreement between us that we will never discuss anything you said while on that truth stuff."

John's eyes narrowed. One of the differences between being drunk and being on truth serum is in one instance, you remember everything clearly, the other, you don't. John remembered everything he said to Sam that night. Some of things he wished he could take back and keep in his own head.

"I asked Eva to come over today so we could take Ben for a walk in the park. I thought, maybe, you'd like having a normal life for a few hours." She glanced at the stick figure comic t-shirt he was wearing. "Don't worry about that. That's something my old boyfriend left here. It was either that or 'I'm With Stupid'. This morning Finch brought over one of your clean suits and a shirt without any bullet holes. So, you can change into that."

"Thank you, Sam... for taking care of me," John said, reaching out to take her hand.

"It was my turn."


	8. Right

She approached the detective, speaking her name. Detective Carter turned around and looked suspiciously at Sam as she walked up to her.

"I couldn't place you before, but I've had some time to think about it," Carter said in that commanding tone she had. "You're Samantha Tudin, right? Your parents were killed last year?"

"Yes. You were very kind to me, Detective, thank you."

"How is John?" Carter asked.

"He's much better. He's the one who sent me to meet you, actually."

"Sent you? He's not recruiting is he? I swear, that man, I will – "

"I volunteered," Sam said quickly, interrupting Carter's potential rant.

"Miss Tudin – "

"Sam."

"Sam," Carter's expression softened. "I can't let you help them. You're a civilian with a registered weapon – "

"I haven't felt like a civilian since I watched my brother get shot, Detective," Sam said flatly. "It's my choice. John is my friend, and I choose to help him when he needs me whether he or anyone else likes it or not."

Carter stared Sam down even though they were about the same height, probably even about the same age. Sam knew the detective didn't have a leg to stand on. There was no way she could stop her… at the moment. She decided to change the subject.

"The reason I'm here is because Mr. Finch has found some useful information that he thought you'd be interested in." Sam pulled an envelope out of her purse and handed it to Carter.

"You know Agent Mark Snow?"

"Unfortunately," Carter muttered.

"Make that _Ex_ Agent Mark Snow," Sam said with a smile. "He's not under orders to hunt John or anyone else. He and his little group were terminated over six months ago. His resources are limited now, which is why he went to Elias to look for John."

Stunned, Carter opened the envelope and began reading the report. Sam waited patiently for a moment, turning her head towards the trees.

"That son of a bitch," Carter said under her breath. "Thank you, this is will be very useful."

"You're welcome," Sam turned to leave but Carter grabbed her by the arm.

"Sam, I saw what you did the other day to get to him," Carter's eyes were warm, understanding, but very serious. "What John does and who he is isn't for everyone. You know that, right?"

Sam looked into her eyes. "I know. But as long as you trust him, what John does is right. He's a good man."

"I've tried to deny it," Carter said, hinting a smile.

"Don't worry about me, Detective."

"When it comes to John, I always worry," Carter said quietly.

They parted and Sam walked over the stones in the square. She past the benches, and stepped onto the sidewalk that wound through the rest of the park. John eased his way over and smoothly moved into step with her.

"I've decided something," Sam said.

"What?"

"I've decided that every once in a while I'll tell you a small fact about myself, and you can do the same. Since you told me a few already by accident, it's my turn. You said you were in band – don't look at me like that – I was a choir nerd. We won a regional competition my junior year. One of my favorite songs we sang was an arrangement of Neil Diamon's 'America'."

John smiled as they reached a street corner and waited for the light to change. Sam stood next to him silently as the light changed and she went to take a step forward, but John held her back. A passel of people moved around them to get onto the street.

"My real name is John," he said. "Just so you know. And…" he appeared to consider his words for a moment. "I have a slight aversion to clowns."

Sam snorted. "Who doesn't?"

"Mine is very specific, concerning an experience when I was seven."

Sam burst out laughing. "So if I came at you dressed as a clown, you would…?"

"I would kill you without a second thought."

"Good to know."

* * *

Harold Finch made his way up the stairs into HQ, and slowed his pace when he saw John's back. He was leaning against the wall, looking out the window as though lying in wait.

"Morning, Finch," he said, turning to greet him.

"Getting a little eager, aren't we Mr. Reese?" Finch said as he took of his coat and sat down.

"I wanted your opinion on something."

Finch raised his eyebrows in surprise. "Really? That's… strange."

"So is this," Reese stepped over to the desk and dropped a folded piece of paper on it. He moved back to the window.

Finch unfolded the sheet of paper and read aloud: "'Samantha, I hope this finds you well. I would like to meet with you…" His voice faded as he read the rest of the note and saw the signature, Carl Elias.

"Where did you find this?"

"Sam's apartment," John said, still staring out the window.

"Did you ask her about it?"

"No. That's what I wanted your opinion on." John finally turned to him and Finch could sense that he was close to the edge. He was angry, much more than Finch believed was warranted.

Finch thought quickly, reading the note over again. "'Please do not misinterpret this as a request.'" He read aloud. "It sounds like Elias has something on her."

"Or, she's been working with him this whole time," John said dangerously.

"This is the same man responsible for the deaths of her family, Mr. Reese. I don't believe she would join his ranks," Finch said logically, trying to keep the calm.

"That's what that meeting was. She walked into that strip club, walked out, and Snow came right after. We already know that Elias told him to follow her and they'd find me. How would he know that?"

"John," Finch said seriously. "Before you go around accusing people, let's get some evidence first. I doubt that Miss Tudin is involved with Elias. And if she is, it is not by her choice."

"I hope you're right, Finch," John said skeptically.

"You should realize by now that I usually am, Mr. Reese."

* * *

You all are awesome for taking time to read and post reviews! I sooo appreciate it. :)

For anyone who may be curious, I have an idea for one more big adventure for Sam with John and Finch. I'm not sure when I'll start posting it, because I still don't have it all straight in my head yet. lol

But it'll be soon, so hang around! Thanks again for reading!


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